Disaster Postponed
by altwriter
Summary: "Well, what do you think we should do about that?"-Peter and Olivia work through the new dynamic of their relationship, while dealing with a missing persons case, and Walter's prying curiosity. Post-'6B', pre-'OS'.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

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><p>Author's Note: I usually don't like to work on two projects at once, but this popped into my head and wouldn't leave, so I'm going to run with it.<p>

Takes place the morning after '6B', and before 'OS', to explore the beginnings of Peter and Olivia's romantic relationship. Let's say it's a sort of 'lost episode'. Hope you enjoy.

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><p>Disaster Postponed<p>

I.

Morning came, and the sun warmed their sleeping bodies. It was welcomed, because today, instead of signifying another day of work, it revealed that the night before hadn't been just a dream, a concoction of their imagination. He woke first, and was surprised to find his chest acting as a pillow, his hand resting on her hair, the other splayed across her hip. Not a bad pose to wake up in, if he were to say so himself. He took in a deep breath, her scent lingering in his nostrils after the fact, allowing his eyes to drift shut again, reflecting on the night before.

Their clothes were strewn along the floor, breadcrumbs tracking their movement hours ago. To think that barely a day earlier, he'd thought he'd never get her out of that damn pea coat. He felt something deep in his stomach, a warmth that hadn't been there before, that hadn't been there even when he'd thought he'd been with her, in a similar situation. It was as if his body had known what his mind had not, and now that it truly was her beside him, his body was drawn to her as a moth is drawn to light.

She stirred, stretching, and he felt the muscles of her back, taut against his hand, her hair tickling his chin. Then, she froze, as if having to recall exactly where she was, and why. His lips brushed the top of her head, and he murmured,

"'Morning, 'Livia."

Her leg brushed against his as she moved, now lying alongside him; the contact still burned his flesh, in such a good way. "Good morning, Peter." She was grinning, the largest grin he'd seen from her in a while. He reached forward, cupping her jaw, swooping in for a kiss, his arm wrapped around her waist. The air was sweet, her lips sweeter, though he drew back, if only to stare at her.

She propped herself up on one elbow, sheet tight against her chest, almost shyly, her smile coy. "What is it?" With his tiny bed, even with her next to him, there was no space between their bodies. It was making it hard to concentrate on anything else, though he managed to form the words,

"Just…_you_."

It was hard not to compare, having made the mistake of being with her alternate, and now, having been with her as well. But it was different, completely and wholly different, being with Olivia. This morning, for one, waking up beside her. Her alternate had often drifted away from him in sleep, and that was only the start of the contrasts.

"I'm flattered." Her tone was dry, but he knew she was merely playing with him, though there was an edge to her voice. She paused for a moment, then added, her fingertips trailing along his shoulder, "Is there something else?" He knew why she was asking; of course there was something else, and she knew it would be on both their minds. There was that little furrow in her brow, the twitch in her lips. "…Was it…different?"

He made a big deal of rolling his eyes, and then maneuvering her onto her back so that he was hovering above her, looking down. "Different?" His mouth was on her neck, and she felt his words as much as she heard them. "It was no comparison, Olivia. _You_ are no comparison, and don't ever think differently, because I certainly won't."

She shuddered beneath him as he moved lower, and he took that as consent, that she had truly listened to his words. He would've gone on, if she hadn't brought him back to eye-level, her hands steadied on his arms. He'd always been fascinated with her eyes, how she could show such emotion without moving any other part of her body, and now, he focused on them, knowing she was wanting to be serious for a moment.

"This was a big deal, you know that, right?"

"Of course." Monumental, in his thoughts. To think that she'd been able to take down her walls, to make herself vulnerable to him, was incredible. She was incredible. If he could've spent the rest of his life with her, in that tiny bed, pressed together, he would've. They'd always had a way of being able to communicate wordlessly, the night before making that clearer than ever before, and now, they took advantage of it again. She trusted him again, and had made it quite distinct that she was willing to allow their relationship to continue to grow; no holding back anymore.

He was all smiles again, almost like an eager child, as he sat up, moving toward the edge of the bed. "I'd love to stay here all day," he said, "but I don't think either of us has had a proper meal in almost twenty-four hours. How about some breakfast?" She too sat up, running a hand through her hair, though he loved it, mussed as it was. "We have quite a variety downstairs. Last time we took a trip to the grocery store, Walter nearly bought the entire inventory." She laughed.

"Surprise me."

Peter stood, pushing himself off the bed with an enthusiastic spring, not the least bit self-conscious in front of her. He'd never been before, and simply being with her felt like the most natural thing in the world. He made a show of pulling on his boxers, enjoying the stifled laughter drifting from the bed. He hadn't heard her laugh like that—he'd never heard it _ever_, as it came to him. It was a nice sound; almost as nice as the sounds he'd heard the night before…

She didn't follow him immediately, and he assumed she needed to gather her bearings, and he would give her time, if that was what she wanted. He was glad that Walter wasn't yet home; it gave them time to themselves, without his prying words. Though, he would likely be ecstatic, because he'd been rooting for the two of them for years. Truthfully, so had Peter.

He rummaged through the cupboards, looking for something suitable. Often, Walter was the one making breakfast, but Peter had a knack for cooking as well, and he wanted this morning to be special. He was in the midst of cracking a couple of eggs when he heard her pad into the kitchen, felt her arms wrap around his waist, her lips against the back of his neck.

"I'd make pancakes," he said softly, the undertone of his voice hinting at a joke, "but I'll leave that to Walter. Mine are no match."

Her lips grazed his ear. "Oh, I'm sure they're wonderful."

He turned to face her, pinned between her and the counter. She'd put on the sweater he'd been wearing the night before, and it hung mid-thigh. She wore only underwear beneath, which he found as he slid his hand up the back, pressing it against the small of her back. "We're never going to eat if you keep this up."

"What a shame." Her face said the opposite, her eyes dark. This was such a change from the past weeks, when she'd been focused on avoiding him. Now, she couldn't get enough, and neither could he. For these short hours, they could pretend that they had no problems, that there was no alternate universe. They were just Peter and Olivia, enjoying their morning together, without a care. That, for Olivia, was especially hard. She was so used to being buried up to her neck in conflict and anguish, that now, she reveled in the positive emotions more readily than he would've expected.

This was all he wanted, to be with her, for her to be happy. And she was, at this moment, seemingly quite content, judging from the way she pressed her body to his, twining herself with him. He drank it in, knowing that they wouldn't often have times like this, to be alone. That is, until the incessant beeping of a cell phone began, brutally ripping them from their illusion. Olivia groaned, leaning her head against his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut, as if to block the noise. An expletive or two slipped from Peter's lips as her warm body left his, to take her phone from the counter and answer it,

"Dunham." Immediately leaping right back into work-mode, of course. She looked incredulous; the same way he felt. They'd helped keep the universe in order, for now—didn't that warrant a day off, at the least? He didn't hear what she said, more engrossed in watching her as she paced the length of the kitchen as she spoke, just as upset as he was about the interruption. When she disconnected the call, she turned to him, one hand on her hip, the other tangled in her hair. "We have a case."

"Really? I thought Broyles was calling to say hello."

She cocked a brow, then gestured toward the stove. "We still have time to eat. I'll make sure Walter is driven back from New York, he can meet us at the scene."

He titled his head, pouting, but she would have none of it. With an amused quirk of her lips, she turned, headed back upstairs. "I'm going to go get ready."

And as much as he wanted to join her, they would've never made it out of the house if he had. Instead, he focused back on his cooking, and the warmth in the pit of his stomach was still there, strong as ever.


	2. Chapter 2

II.

The air was brisk, and Olivia was again wrapped in that pea coat, that had just recently blanketed his bedroom floor. But, his thoughts were away from that, now, as she slowed the SUV to a halt at the side of the road. Walter stood as he saw them, giving a wave.

"Another body, I hope?" he said, clambering into the backseat. Peter twisted to face him, eyebrows raised.

"I wish the morbid curiosity was because you wanted to catch whoever did it," he said, "but I know that's not the case. Yes, Walter, it's a body."

Olivia chuckled from her spot up front, and Peter swung back, facing forward once more. In the rearview mirror, he watched as Walter's eyes narrowed, apparently deep in thought. Already beginning to analyze the two of them, he suspected. As far as Walter knew, their relationship was still on the rocks, but Peter wasn't about to tell him otherwise. The car was silent, for the moment, as they headed back onto the road, toward the park where a body had been found.

He would've liked to take her hand, to feel just that bit of warmth against him, but he knew it would've raised questions. They would have to get used to this, because though he'd been in a similar situation before, with the Alternate Olivia, she'd always kept her distance. He'd thought it was because it was Olivia, of course, trying to keep her professional and personal lives somewhat separate, despite the challenges that rose, seeing as how they were together nearly every day. Now, he knew it was merely because she was not their Olivia, but he knew, nonetheless, that they would still need to draw some sort of line, to stay within professional limits.

"You're absolutely glowing, Olivia," said Walter, his voice and smile knowing, jerking Peter from his thoughts. Olivia shifted in her seat. "The both of you are." He sniffed the air, leaning forward so that his head was between their seats. "I know what that look is, that scent—"

Peter thanked whatever higher power there was that the park wasn't far from the bus stop, and he'd said, much too loudly, "We're here", succeeding in cutting Walter's ramblings short.

Olivia shot him a relieved sort of look as they both hopped out of the SUV, and Walter ambled after them, somewhat downtrodden. An entire section of the park had been cordoned off, and Broyles stood near the perimeter of yellow police tape, hands tucked in his pockets. He nodded an acknowledgement to them, then immediately began,

"The victim is the second in what appears to be a series of abductions. White male, mid-twenties, though we haven't yet been able to identify him—he has no wallet, no identification on him whatsoever. Not even a cell phone." They moved toward the body as he spoke. It had been deposited in a more wooded, less populous area. A white sheet covered it, though as soon as they were close enough, Walter bent down and drew it back. Peter hastily handed a pair of latex gloves to Walter, before he started prodding without them.

"Okay, but why us?" said Olivia, standing a little ways off, surveying the area. "We don't normally handle missing persons cases."

"Yeah," Peter smirked, "what's the catch?"

Broyles replied, "Both victims were dumped in some part of the city, presumably late at night, to avoid being spotted, and they were stripped of an identifying factors. As you can see, this victim isn't wearing normal street clothes; he's wearing what look to be some sort of hospital gown. There are track marks on their arms, —" Walter nodded his agreement. "—ligature marks on their wrists, and so on, all indicative of some sort of …experimentation. Cause of death can't be determined right now, but it's probably the same as the last—a fatal reaction to drugs he was given. The other victim was found in the same condition."

"Well," said Olivia "I'll admit, it's not as strange as what we normally deal with—"

"—but it is a nice break," Peter finished, chuckling.

Olivia stepped away from the group, pacing the area around where the body had been dumped. Walter was still crouched over the body, and Peter joined him. "Are there any cameras around here, that could've caught the drop-off on tape?"

"Local law enforcement is checking it out now," Broyles replied. "Whatever they can find will be transferred to you. When you're ready, the body will be brought back to the lab."

"I think now would be best." Walter stood, brushing off the front of his jacket. "There's nothing more I can do here, and I am a bit chilly…" He turned to Peter. "I've forgotten about breakfast, now that I think of it."

Peter clapped him on the shoulder, snorting good-naturedly. "We'll get you something on the way."

#

Pastry in hand, Walter padded into the lab, followed closely by Peter and Olivia, and then the body, rolled in by two men in blue jumpsuits. Astrid was already waiting.

"Another case so soon, even after saving half of the city from being sucked into a tear in the universe, huh?"

Peter shrugged, tossing his coat over the back of a chair. "No rest for the weary."

"Or the wicked, it seems," said Walter. "Though, whoever did this did a fine job of making sure nothing was left on the victim."

Peter moved toward the examination table. The men who'd carried in the body had left. It was just the four of them, now. They'd fallen back into their usual routine of investigation, seemingly without alerting both Walter and Astrid to the fact that anything had changed. They weren't going to hide it, no, but getting them both worked up about it in the middle of a case would only be a disadvantage, and a distraction. Olivia came up behind him, leaning on the countertop, forehead creased. He turned to her.

"What's wrong?"

She pursed her lips. "This case. I mean, dumping a body without any sort of identification—that would mean whoever did it wanted to be inconspicuous. But, the fact that the body was left in a park is almost hypocritical. Even at night, it's not empty, and there was a good chance that they would be spotted. So, why not somewhere else—an alleyway, an abandoned lot?"

"Well, Broyles said there was another victim. Where was that one left?"

She took a moment to flip open the file and scan it. He wondered if, when she'd leaned forward as she did this, she'd intentionally let her hand brush against his. "The first victim was dumped on a street corner. According to the report, it looked as if he'd been 'tossed' there." She straightened up, hands on her hips. "The street corner was only a few blocks away from the park. It looks like there's a comfort zone, so at least that's a good thing."

"Why?"

Astrid spoke up, from where she stood beside Walter, "It means whoever is doing this isn't far. They're staying close to the area, because they know it, and they know exactly when and where to dump the bodies so they won't be spotted."

Olivia nodded, and opened her mouth to say more, but her phone rang, and she placed it to her ear, the usual greeting of "Dunham" following the action. The conversation was short, and when she was finished, her demeanor had brightened the slightest bit.

"The victim was identified by his fingerprints—apparently, he was arrested a couple of years ago. Name's Keith Taylor. Astrid, Walter, see if you can find out more about why he was taken, how he was killed, and what kind of experimentation was done. Peter and I will go to his house, see if we can find out anything there."

Astrid nodded, waved them goodbye, though Walter seemed to be watching them a bit more closely than normal as they left; he nearly sliced a finger off with the scalpel he'd been holding, until Astrid grabbed it away.

"Walter, come on, you've got to watch what you're doing."

He looked at her, as if just seeing her for the first time. "Haven't you noticed something strange?"

"Strange? You mean, stranger than what we see _every_day?"

"I don't mean with the case, dear." He gestured toward the door that Peter and Olivia had left through. "I mean, with them! Peter and Olivia. Don't you see? The last few days, they've been avoiding each other, but not now."

Astrid sighed. "Walter, they're friends. They weren't going to stay like that forever. I'm sure they've managed to…reconcile."

Walter grinned. "I presume they've done more than _reconcile_."

Astrid shook her head, turning back to the body, and said not one more word. She wasn't sure whether to believe Walter's musings, or if it was just another arbitrary tangent he'd gone off on.

#

"So, is this what we're doing now? Keeping it a secret?" Olivia was only half-joking, and Peter twisted in his seat to look at her more clearly. She'd sounded innocent enough, but there were bitter undertones as well. He shook his head.

"No! Of course not." He chuckled, twining his fingers through hers, where they rested on the center console. "But, I think Walter's figured it out, anyway. And besides, you think it's a good idea just to come out and tell him? What would we tell him, exactly?"

"It's not just Walter, it's Astrid, too. Maybe Broyles ought to know as well. I mean, I know we won't let this get in the way of our work—we _can't_—but it'll change our dynamic somehow, won't it? They at least should know something."

He squeezed her hand. "Well, I'm sure that as soon as Walter's confirmed it, he'll let Astrid know, for sure."

They'd arrived. Keith Taylors lived in an apartment building, in one of the more run-down sections of the city. The managed to procure a key from the tenant, after explaining the situation, though Peter had rather been looking forward to getting some mileage on his lock-picking skills. It was the sort of place you'd expect from a college graduate; mismatched furniture, clothes strewn about. Olivia edged down the hallway, while Peter took a quick scan of the kitchen and living area. It didn't look as if he'd been taken from his apartment. Though the place was messy, there was no sign of forced-entry, and there would've been witnesses. The walls were like paper—he could hear an argument going on in the next apartment over. Someone would've heard any sort of altercation, if there had been one.

He found Olivia in the bedroom, standing over the dresser. "I haven't found anything that would indicate why he was chosen as a victim," she said. She sounded distracted, and he moved closer, looking over her shoulder. She was staring at a picture of Taylor and a woman who, presumably, was his significant other.

"You think a girlfriend would've reported him missing, right?" he said.

"Maybe she did. I have an agent running his name through the usual databases—if she reported him missing, he'll come up. We should talk to her. Maybe she'll have something useful for us." She still hadn't looked away from the picture.

"What's wrong?"

She turned at last, facing him. "How did Walter find out the first time, when you were with her?" He was surprised with how candid she was, and she knew it, hastily adding, "I know, I know. I don't mean to compare, Peter, but I'm curious, and that's understandable, I'm sure."

"It is, 'Livia." He brought one hand to her arm, rubbing gently, in an effort to comfort her. He knew that it _was_ a comparison, though she wouldn't admit it, likely not even to herself. He debated whether to get into it with her now or not, though he knew she'd be unhappy if he avoided the question. Talking about the other Olivia, though, was something he preferred to avoid. "I didn't tell anyone explicitly, though Walter knew, when I didn't come home one night, and told him I'd been at your place." He suppressed a cringe, waiting for a negative response. Instead, she raised a brow, almost slyly.

"Well, I'm sure we won't be getting much sleep tonight, but you're welcome to come over, if we ever make it home. Walter'll be fine, won't he?"

"Oh, he's been getting more independent." His smile matched hers; he appreciated that she hadn't turned the mention of the other Olivia into a completely negative conversation between the two of them. In fact, it had turned into something much better. "And a perfect way to break it to him, I think."

Her phone was ringing, bringing them back to the reality that they were standing in the bedroom of a victim's apartment. She moved toward the doorway, answering,

"Dunham…No, we didn't find anything here, but we think he had some sort of significant other, so we should find out who she is, and talk to her…Alright, we're on our way. Thanks, Astrid."

She pulled open the door, and he followed, listening as she said,

"We need to get back to the lab, Walter's found something."

He knew he should've been somewhat excited, because it meant they were perhaps one step closer to solving the case. But, he was much more looking forward to a night at her apartment. It seemed that, at the moment, anything case-related was taking a back seat to his feelings. It wouldn't always be like this, he knew—it couldn't be, with the nature of their work. But, knowing that the feelings they had for each other didn't have to be repressed any longer, and that they were no longer treading thin ice whenever they were in the same room, was both a relief, and so much more.


	3. Chapter 3

III.

The two of them filed back into the lab, and Walter immediately started in with his findings, apparently having forgotten about their personal lives at that moment. Astrid joined them, and the three watched in amusement as he busied himself with his explanation.

"Prior to the autopsy—I still need to do a toxicology screening, to figure out what kind of drugs this man was given, and—"

Peter stepped forward, gesturing toward the body, a bit impatiently. "What did you find, Walter?"

"Ah, yes." With gloved hands, thank goodness, he pulled back the sheet. The body was stiff, and Walter ran a finger down the man's sternum, as he continued, "I found a substance on the skin, which I found, after testing, to be a sort of adhesive."

Olivia was bent over the body now, too. "So, what does that mean? Why would he have that on his body?"

"From monitors, right?" Peter interjected, crossing his arms. "EKG, and the like."

"Okay, they were monitoring him. That fits with the experimentation theory. But, why?"

Walter, again, was staring at the both of them as if they'd been discussing wedding cakes, rather than a murder victim. "Perhaps we'll find out more once we know exactly what drugs this man was given."

"Right."

Astrid motioned for her, and Olivia was at her side in an instant, both now bathed in the glow of the computer screen. The former said, "Look at this, he _was_ reported missing. The day after he was abducted, it looks like."

"Great, Astrid," said Olivia, "can you get me the name and address of whoever filed the report?"

"On it." Her fingers flew across the keyboard, eyes focused.

"And while you're at it, look through recent missing persons reports. I know we don't have much to go on, but both victims so far have been white males in their twenties, so try to see if anyone else fits those parameters."

"Will do."

#

The missing persons report had been filed by the victim's girlfriend, but as it turned out, she too could provide nothing useful. Taylor had been picked almost at random, save for some physical details. He and the first victim shared nothing more than that—different jobs, different lifestyles; nothing else that could possibly link the two. It was nearing evening as Peter and Olivia headed back from the girlfriend's house. Last they heard, Astrid was still compiling the missing persons reports, and Walter was performing the tox screen and autopsy.

"I don't think anything is going to change if we work through the night," said Peter, as they neared the Harvard Campus. "Even if another victim has been taken already, we now know that they're held for at least a week—Keith Taylor's girlfriend reported him missing exactly a week before his body turned up. So, we have time."

"I'm sure the most recent victim wouldn't appreciate that if he heard it," she shot back, though her tone was almost teasing. "You just want to head home."

"Is that a problem?"

She smirked. "No, but remember, our work can't be hindered by what we've started together."

He rolled his eyes, snorting. "I know, 'Livia. Look, we'll stop back at the lab, grab the files that Astrid has for us, and we'll look at them over dinner. Sound good?"

Olivia nodded.

He would've preferred a night without work—a whole week, perhaps—to just spend time with her. Maybe he could convince her, though it was certainly a long shot, to take just a weekend off, and they could go somewhere, anywhere, just to be alone, away from the stress of work, and what seemed to be an impending, inter-universal war. But, this was a start. If it were up to her, he knew she'd be locked up in the office in the lab all night, with nothing but a bottle of whisky and the files. At least they'd be more comfortable at home.

_Home_. Was he already thinking of her apartment as _home_? It certainly was a nice sentiment, if not a bit premature. But, if he were at all going by the feelings coursing through him, her apartment would soon become just as much as a home to him as his own house was. It already had been, during that terrible time of misconception and trickery.

In the lab, Walter had taken a break as the tests were being run, and stood in Gene's pen, brushing the cow and murmuring sweet nothings to her. While Olivia gathered the files, Peter made his way over to him, glad for the seclusion.

"Did you find out anything from the girlfriend?" Walter said 'girlfriend' with a strange undertone to his voice, almost as if the word were a double-entendre.

"Nope, nothing. What about the drugs, anything yet?"

"They're not finished yet." He turned back to Gene, but Peter clapped a hand over his shoulder.

"Walter, listen." He wondered why he felt himself getting choked up now, of all times. Perhaps it was because it was as if their little family unit they'd created was now, at last, meshing the way he felt it always should. He swallowed, pushing away the feelings, sobering up. "I'm going to Olivia's tonight, alright? There's food in the fridge, and we'll pick you up in the morning."

"You're staying over?" Walter was much too excited, fumbling with the brush in his hands, and Gene flicked her ears in annoyance.

"Yes, Walter, I'm staying over."

He grinned. "Wonderful. And don't worry about coming to pick me up, I can have Astro drive me in, you two take all the time you need to—"

"Stop it." Peter almost laughed. "Really, though. We'll pick you up." He sighed, turning back toward the center of the lab, and said over his shoulder, "See you tomorrow."

"Hm, yes," said Walter, "have a nice night."

Olivia and Astrid stood near the door, chatting about something-or-other, though they stopped as he approached. Olivia's arms were loaded with manila folders, presumably all holding information on recent missing persons—something he was not looking forward to going through. She said something about the files being heavy, and left for the car as Peter said to Astrid,

"Would you mind giving Walter a ride home?"

She tried in vain to suppress a smile that was much too knowing. "Of course, it's no problem."

#

It was the first time he'd been to her apartment since her return from Over There. Nothing had changed, as far as he could tell, though he hadn't expected it to. Olivia had always been a sort of creature of habit, and despite the subtle changes the Other Olivia had made to her living arrangements, he knew she must've just fixed them and went on. She tossed her jacket over the back of the couch, deposited the files on the side. He did the same, following her as she moved into the kitchen, and began to dig through a drawer.

"What're you in the mood for?"

Not food, that was for sure. She was looking beautifully tousled, her hair a bit mussed, her blouse un-tucked. His arms were around her waist, lips on her neck, though she turned, pressing her hands flat against his chest.

"Peter. Focus." His lips found hers; she turned her face to the side, and they were on her cheek. "Come on, we have work to do."

"You're such a buzz kill."

"Sorry." She sounded unapologetic, though he did grudgingly ease his hold on her, his hand lingering on her hip as she returned to the drawer. "Pizza, Chinese, Thai?"

"Whatever you want."

Pizza it was, then, and as she ordered, he made his way to the couch. The files would have to do as a distraction for now, and he spread them out on the coffee table. There were twenty, at least. Boston was a large city, and it seemed as if Astrid had gone through cases more than a week old. They couldn't be sure whether more than one victim was taken at a time, or how much time there was in between victims. It was a tough case, he had to admit, despite the fact that human experimentation, though it was horrifying, was a bit mundane by their standards.

Olivia brought in a bottle of wine and two glasses; set it down beside the files. "What," said Peter, "no whisky tonight?"

She chuckled. "I thought wine was more fitting, somehow."

"Well," he said, pouring a glass for the both of them, then handing it to her, "cheers."

Their glasses clinked together, and she took a sip before repeating, "Cheers."

He moved to wrap an arm around her; she evaded, picking up a file, placing it on her lap. So this was it, then—a game, perhaps, to see how long they could last. Or, because she knew how much the work needed to be done, which was also very true, however much he would've preferred otherwise.

The pizza came, and they ate, still discussing the files. Dinner was cleaned up, and another quarter of the bottle of wine was finished off. They'd gone through more than half the files, interspersed with conversation nothing in particular at the same time. Mostly about Walter, and how he'd reacted when Peter had told him of his plans for the night. Olivia had laughed, and the sound had carried through the entire room, making his insides warm, his hands itch for her.

Nearing ten in the evening, Olivia tossed the file she held to the coffee table, leaning back into the couch with a sigh. "Enough is enough. I need a shower." Game over. The look on her face was shrewd, her eyes lingering on his. He was surprised that, tonight, she was the instigator, and yet, as he thought, it was something he completely expected. They still had to feel each other out, to get to know each other in such intimate circumstances. This was still so new, and he loved every bit of it, getting to know Olivia more so than he had before.

The lights in the bathroom were dim, though his vision went dark for a moment as the door closed, and she pushed herself against him, her lips brushing his. He could feel her breath on his cheek as she drew away, shallow, shaky, and watched as she bent to turn the water on. Then she was back to him, hands tugging at the hem of his sweater, and in their proximity, and the size of the bathroom, it was a bit of trouble to get off, but neither minded. The buttons on her blouse teased him, as her fingertips did his skin, though he managed to all but tear the shirt from her. He idled as it slipped from her shoulders, bending his neck to press his lips to her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck. Her breath hitched in his ear for a moment.

In the whirlwind of the previous night, he hadn't had the chance to see her as he did now, not hidden by the darkness of his room. He found it endearing that she blushed under his gaze, tugged at his hand once their clothes had piled on the floor for him to follow her. The water felt nice on his back, washing away the grime of the day, though it was nothing compared to the feeling of her body against his. And still, he was enthralled with the differences between her and her alternate, however much he hadn't wanted _her_ to be making an appearance in his thoughts. But, even now, it wasn't merely about the physical, as it had always seemed with _her_, because he could almost sees her walls coming down. This was being vulnerable, in more ways than one, and he knew that was one of the hardest things for her to do. And when he caught her eye, he could see it, still that bit of hesitance, and he raised a hand to her cheek.

She bent her head toward him, resting it in the slope of his neck, and he brought his other hand to the back of her head, closing his eyes. He felt her hands on the small of his back, fingertips trailing up his spine, teasing touches, and then she reached around him for the soap. His flesh mourned the loss of her touch, until her hands were again on him, his chest and shoulders this time, kneading the muscle, lathering the soap. Her eyes were focused, more so than they needed to be; it was a show, avoiding his eyes, seeing how long they could avoid more intimate touching.

They both soon grew impatient, and the shower didn't last much longer. The size it made it hard to do much more than stand, though he wouldn't have minded if they'd just dealt with what they had. But, Olivia seemed eager to get out, and he wasn't about to argue with her.

The shower off, he wrapped a towel around the both of them, pushing her close to him, kissing the top of her head. She laughed, smiling up at him, and they stumbled together, damp footsteps leading to the bedroom. The towel fell away, replaced by bed sheets, and it was wonderful, to be able to be with her, to have a respite from the stress of work, of Walter—of the impending destruction. When he was with her, he thought of nothing else. She had brought out this whole new side of him; caring, less selfish, and he appreciated it to no end. And he saw now that he did elicit a change in her, a breaking down of her walls, a less tense demeanor in the short moments they had together. At work, she was buttoned up, with never a chance to relax, but here, alone, she was free to truly unwind, if only for the little time it was.

He covered her with kisses, missing not an inch. It was glorious, to hear the small sounds that came from her, to know that he was the cause; to know that this wonderful woman accepted him into her life, after all he'd done. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him up toward her, her lips on his, still tasting faintly of wine. Then, she maneuvered him so that his back was against the headboard, her legs straddling his. She moved against him, and he saw stars. This was new, her initiative, and he loved it. Her arms were still around his neck, her chest pressed against his.

He hadn't felt this sort of wave of emotion before, a mixture of pure ecstasy, and a sort of sadness, which he quickly suppressed. This was exactly how it was supposed to be, their being together, and it was a shame that such trauma had to come to the both of them for it to be realized. Guilt, too, but he would deal with that at another time. Now, he focused only on her; her skin, warm against his, her hair, slightly curled from the shower, her breath in his ear, her hands…

This felt so _right_.


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

He woke up to something brushing his nose and cheek, and opened his eyes to find that it was her fingers, prodding the back of her neck. His arms were still wrapped around her, holding her close, her back to his chest, and he wondered if she were still sleeping. She wasn't, he decided, seeing how her hand moved from her neck to clasp around his, her thumb rubbing circles on his wrist. The gesture was nice, but he was distracted by what had come into view when she'd moved her hand: a tattoo. He'd never seen it before, though, he _had_ thought he'd seen something on the back of her neck, but had dismissed it as a shadow, and hadn't taken a closer look since. He supposed she'd always had a collar covering it, or her hair.

"What's this, 'Livia?" he said, voice still thick with sleep, as he brought up his own hand to trace the outline of what looked like an abstract sun of some sort. He felt her stiffen in his arms; her thumb halted its movement on his wrist. He'd just wandered onto thin ice, apparently.

He still had trouble hearing her, despite how close they were. "They must've removed it from her, when she came Over Here." Her chest rose beneath his arms as she took in a deep breath, and he pressed his lips to the back of her shoulder, urging her to continue. "It's a tattoo, though for the life of me, I can't remember what it means. Maybe that's a good thing, that her memories aren't still in my head."

He detected just the slightest tremor in her voice. She'd shown little, if any, signs of any sort of post-traumatic stress; really, he'd only seen her upset about what had gone on between himself and her alternate, though he was sure there was much more to it. But, he was still astounded how she'd managed to keep it to herself; how she managed to deal with everything she'd been through the past few years.

"Why didn't you have it removed?"

She snorted, turning in his arms, though she didn't look at him. She looked past him, rather, eyes focused out the window; she'd never closed the blinds, and the sun had begun to spill inside. "I don't know. It's a reminder.."

"Of what?" He felt her hands moving on him, her lips on his neck, and knew she was looking for a sort of physical comfort now, and a distraction from a conversation that she didn't want to be having. He stifled a groan. "Olivia, listen…It's not a reminder of anything good. I don't think you'll be forgetting what happened anytime soon—neither will I—and you don't need something permanent like that, for whenever you look in the mirror."

"I know." It was all she said, an acknowledgement of what he said, but nothing else. He suspected there was some sort of deeper reason as to why she wasn't immediately agreeing with him, but he didn't particularly want to start an argument at this moment, so he kept quiet, allowing her to drag his lips to hers, reveling as her fingers curled through his hair. Through this, he glanced at the clock on the bedside table; six in the morning. They still had a couple of hours to themselves, before they even had to think about work.

"'Livia," he murmured, "let's go back to sleep." She shook her head, almost indiscernibly, her hand tightening on the sheet covering them both. Her eyes were only partially open, she looked as if she was already half-asleep, but he knew it wasn't the case. Perhaps she'd been awake for quite a while now. "Is something wrong?" He understood being upset from the conversation, however short it had been, but she was unusually somber, for being in the situation they were at the moment.

"I still think about it," she said, looking at him, eyes boring holes in his. "I still dream about it, being on the Other Side. Sometimes, I wake up, and I think I'm still her, for a moment. Or, I think I'm back in that cell."

He'd known that their being together wouldn't be the end of their troubles, of her trauma, but he'd hoped that they'd at least have a few days of bliss before something like this set in. It was selfish, he knew, and he held her now, ready to deal with whatever needed to be dealt with. He had never been good at this, talking about feelings. Past relationships hadn't lasted long, and none had meant as much to him as this did.

"The night you came back," he began, in a whisper, "I dreamt, too, that you were still trapped there, and I couldn't reach you.." This was his way of opening up to her, in hopes that she'd allow just a bit of that self-defense to drop, to allow herself to be more than stoic with her feelings in front of him. "But those are just dreams, and we're awake, now, and you're here."

She had a curious look on her face, and she said again, with those dismissive words, "I know."

He put on a smile—anything to lighten the mood—kissed the side of her lips, innocently enough. He wasn't about to baby her, to try to get her to explain her dreams to him; she'd tell him when she was ready, and she wouldn't appreciate the prying. "So, no sleep, then?"

Olivia smirked. "Tired, Peter? I mean, if last night was too much for you…" Her mood had changed in a split-second, and again, he was surprised by her resilience.

"Oh, no, not at all." He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, offering a hand to her, in a mockery of a chivalrous gesture. "As Walter's told us many times, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and we have some time to kill."

#

They had the chance to go over a few more files over breakfast, and by the time they picked Walter up, they had decided on the most possible suspect for their next victim. The man fit the same profile as the last two victims; white male, mid-twenties, abducted from the Boston-area. It wasn't often that a man of that description went missing, and it was worth checking out. Also, an email from the local law enforcement told her that the CCTV tapes from the last two abductions had been sent to the lab, ready for them to check out. Hopefully, they'd be able to make some sort of connection between the drop-off areas. Witness statements hadn't done much help yet.

Olivia was still a bit quieter than usual, though she didn't seem unhappy, and he hoped that whatever it was that was still bothering her, she'd eventually talk about. Walter wasn't as chatty either, though Peter thought it was because he was still attempting to discern something from their demeanor.

"Did you two have a nice night?" he asked, halfway between the Bishop's house and the Harvard campus. Peter rolled his eyes; catching Olivia's glanced, before he replied,

"Yes, Walter, thank you."

"So did I." He waited a minute, then said, "Wouldn't you like to know why?"

Olivia piped in, "Why, Walter?"

"I spent the evening perfecting my pancake recipe. The next time you stay over, Olivia, you will be absolutely blown away!"

She chuckled. "I'm sure I will be."

Astrid met them at the lab, and as Walter scurried over to check to see if the results of the tox screen had come through yet, he whispered something to her, and they began giggling in the corner like adolescents. Peter smirked, watching as Olivia rolled her eyes.

"Yes!" said Walter, voice echoing through the lab. "Here they are, the results!" He handed a sheet of paper to Peter. He recognized the names on it, various types of psychoactive drugs, though Olivia seemed confused.

"What're these?"

"Psychoactive drugs. Mind-altering medications, my dear," Walter replied, swooping over to the body, holding up the arm. "See, these track marks must be where the drugs were administered, and it makes sense with our theory that the adhesives were due to monitors having been attached."

"And these aren't drugs that are readily available," added Peter. "Whoever is using these on the victims must've ordered them, and they either have the credentials to order them, or they've been faking the authorization."

Olivia glanced toward Astrid, opened her mouth, but the latter caught her, saying before she could get out a word, "I'll check to see who could've ordered them in the recent past, and do a cross-check with the rest of the profile we've already worked up."

Olivia grinned and thanked her, then said, "Well, while you do that, we should also check out the CCTV tapes that the local PD just sent over. If we're lucky, our guy was caught on camera." She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder, indication that she was heading to the office in the back, and Peter followed. She sat down at the desk once inside, laptop out, already logging onto her email, and he closed the door and took a seat beside her.

"You know what's bugging me?" he said. She smirked, pushing her glasses back to the bridge of her nose, her eyes on the screen.

"That Walter is much too excited about what's going on between the two of us?"

"No, not that." He chuckled. "It's about the case. Do you really think that one guy is taking these people and doing tests by himself? I mean, why not two or three? Why would one person be doing experimentation? I think a group would be more likely—multiple people working toward the same goal."

"Okay, but, what goal would they have?"

He leaned forward, forearms on the desk, fingers brushing hers. "Well, psychoactive drugs are mind-altering, affecting mood, perception, cognition…Mind control?"

"Wouldn't that be great?" Her tone was dry.

"It's just a thought."

"And why men? White males in their twenties, seriously? They'd be the hardest to just take off the street."

"Maybe the amount of testing their doing requires the subjects to be in good physical condition. All of the victims were of similar descriptions, right? Fit, young—what better test subject could you have?"

The videos were up and running on the screen, and she nodded as an acknowledgement to his last statement, as well as an indication that the conversation, however useful it had been to the case, was now over. Peter draped his arm over her shoulders, settling in close to her, much closer than was their norm while working, though she didn't object. They were in private, the door shut, and he assumed that the position wasn't (too) distracting, or else she would've said something.

For a long while, there was nothing, only an empty parking lot, just outside of the spot in the park where the second victim had been dumped. There was a flicker of movement in the corner at one moment, while Olivia was fast-forwarding the video, though it turned out, once they'd paused the video, that it was only a deer. At one point, around the time of death that Walter had estimated, the video became distorted. They could see nothing; the screen had turned gray. Peter groaned.

"How much do you bet that the other video is the same way?"

"More than I have." She switched off the monitor, but before she could say more, the door opened behind them. While the news of their relationship was pretty much out in the open now, she seemed to be relieved that Peter was leaning back, rather than hanging on her. Astrid stood in the doorway, holding a file.

"I'm still searching through databases and cross-referencing with the drug information for possible UNSUBs*," she said, handing off the papers to Olivia, "I did a bit more research on the missing persons. Looks like this one might be the most likely subject—he was the only one in the Boston area around the same age as the other two victims. He has a roommate. I don't know how much talking to him would help, but it's a start."

Peter clucked his tongue. "How'd we miss him when we were looking last night?"

Olivia blushed, attempting to hide her face behind the file. "Thanks Astrid, we'll head there now. Tell Walter to call us if he finds anything else."

Alone in the hall, once they'd grabbed their coats, she gave him a light shove, and said, "That was unnecessary."

"What was?"

"That comment about the file we missed."

"It was a valid remark." He was having fun with this, teasing her, watching her squirm. He wasn't as shy about their relationship as she was, it seemed.

"_Peter_."

"Alright, fine, I'm sorry."

#

Matthew Jacobs, their newest suspected victim, lived in a run-down apartment building in Boston. His roommate, Owen Parker, was just as disheveled as the exterior of the place. The interior didn't look much better.

"Who're you?" he asked once he'd opened the door, leaning against the frame, eyes half-open.

"FBI." Olivia held up her credentials; the kid—he couldn't have been older than twenty-three—had to squint to see them. "Special Agent Olivia Dunham, and this is Peter Bishop. May we come in?"

"This about Matt?" Apparently, he was too tired, or hung-over, as it seemed, to finish his sentences. Olivia nodded, and he stepped aside, allowing them through. The apartment smelled of stale pizza, and rightfully so—there was a half-eaten box sitting on the coffee table, next to a stained couch. Parker gestured toward it. "You can sit down. Want anything? I have coffee…maybe."

Peter shook his head, catching Olivia's grimace at the mention. "No thanks, we're good. Just tell us about your friend, Matt. Why'd you file the report?"

Parker dropped down onto the couch, posture relaxed, but it was a masquerade. His eyes were worried, directed toward the ground. It could've been seen as guilt, but Peter knew better; he was distraught. He had nothing to do with his friend's disappearance. "Matt works at a drug store down the road. It was the only job he could get after graduation, but he was looking for another. Anyway, one night, he didn't come home, and that never happens." He swept out an arm. "I know that this place doesn't look great, but if you look at his room, you'll see he's actually pretty neat with his stuff. Matt has always been like that—organized, never late for anything. That's why it was weird when he didn't come home. He would've let me know if he was staying somewhere else. But I waited, and when he didn't come back the next day, I called the police."

Olivia had wandered to the other side of the room, perusing the few books on a wall shelf. "Have you noticed anything suspicious lately? Even before Matt went missing—maybe a car sitting outside, or someone repeatedly walking past the building that you've never seen before."

Parker thought for a moment, taking his head out of his hands. Then, he shook his head. "No, I can't think of anything. Why? Have other people been taken like him?"

"I can't discuss any details of the case."

She was already heading back for the door, knowing that they weren't going to get much more information by staying here. Peter, however, moved closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Listen, Owen. Whatever's happened to your friend, I promise we're doing whatever we can to find him."

"Thanks," was all he said in reply.

Out in the hallway, Olivia said, "We don't even know if Matthew Lewis was taken by the same people that took the last two victims. His case could be completely unrelated."

Peter shrugged. "I know, but I'd rather leave him with false hope than none at all."

* * *

><p>*UNSUB: Unknown Subject, in case you didn't know.<p> 


End file.
